


fell in your opinion when i fell in love with you

by hihoplastic



Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: Because it’s been three weeks, and they’ve barely spoken. Brief mirror chats tinged with awkwardness, one of them always getting called away, or making some sort of excuse. They barely spoke the morning after, too awkward and rushed, and Hecate hasn’t known what to feel, emotions running high from overwhelming joy to a pain that lances through her chest and leaves her winded. She feels like she’s standing on a cliff, toes off the edge, teetering between solid ground and a free fall she knows will kill her in the end.





	fell in your opinion when i fell in love with you

**Author's Note:**

> \- for @susangatelys on tumblr who requested "hecate/pippa + why haven't you kissed me yet?"  
> \- title from Florence and the Machine's "Falling"  
> \- I forgot to migrate this over from tumblr whoops

She looks terrible. **  
**

Paler than usual, dark circles under her eyes she can’t be bothered to mask, a heavy set to her shoulders that even Miss Bat notices, touches her hand to Hecate’s elbow one afternoon with a quiet, “Are you sure you’re all right, dear?”

She’s fine, she’s always fine, except her stomach feels like stone and she hasn’t eaten properly in weeks. Sleep is elusive, dreams almost worse than the nightmares she’s so accustomed to. She closes her eyes and sees soft skin, pink lips and a smile; closes her eyes and hears her father’s voice, disappointment and shame laced throughout, and she wakes up exhausted.

She’s aware she’s being irrational–that she’s letting her emotions, her fears and desires, get the better of her. But she’s never been good at traversing the unknown, the liminal space between what she wants so terribly and what she doesn’t dare expect.

Because it’s been three weeks, and they’ve barely spoken. Brief mirror chats tinged with awkwardness, one of them always getting called away, or making some sort of excuse. They barely spoke the morning after, too awkward and rushed, and Hecate hasn’t known what to feel, emotions running high from overwhelming joy to a pain that lances through her chest and leaves her winded. She feels like she’s standing on a cliff, toes off the edge, teetering between solid ground and a free fall she knows will kill her in the end.

She scolds herself for the dramatic thought. It’s hardly the end of the world. Will hardly be the end of her. She’s survived rejection before, survived far worse, and she’ll survive this too, whatever the outcome.

Her jaw twitches in silent, bitter laughter. She’d barely survived Pippa the first time, when they were hardly more than children; there’s no chance she’ll walk away from this unscathed, not now that she knows - knows what Pippa’s hands feel like in her hair, the ghost of Pippa’s smile on her bare skin.  

Hecate stares at her reflection in the window and forces herself to inhale, exhale, slow and measured.  

At least today it will be over.

Today, she’ll know for certain, and can pack up her heart accordingly. Stow it away somewhere no one can touch, not again. Not after this.

Because letting Pippa in has always been her greatest desire, and her greatest fear. It seems unimaginable to her that Pippa doesn’t know how she feels, especially after that night, when her guard was down and she felt just a touch brave, brave enough to kiss her, and keep kissing her. Brave enough to respond to Pippa’s touch and Pippa’s mouth; brave enough, or stupid enough, to let her hands explain what she’s never been able to put into words.

What she should have said, before falling into bed together, because she doesn’t  _know._

Doesn’t know if Pippa feels the same.

Doesn’t know if she thinks it was a one time thing, or a distraction, or a mistake.

Part of her doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to hear the words she expects on Pippa’s tongue, the soft pity or incredulous surprise.

But it’s too late for that. She’s here, in Pippa’s office, has come at Pippa’s behest, like she always will, unable to resist the small, hesitant smile, even as the words,  _We should probably speak in person, don’t you think?_  had curled into her stomach and sat there for days.

She wonders if Pippa has felt the same. If she’s just as anxious. If she cares enough to be anxious at all.

Hecate jumps at the hand on her shoulder, is met with Pippa’s apologetic smile as she drops her hand.  “Sorry,” she murmurs, “I didn’t mean to be so long.”

Hecate shakes her head and wills her body to relax, but her shoulder feels like fire where Pippa’s hand had been, however briefly, and she curls her fingers into fists at her sides.

Her words feel stiff and out of tune. “Everything is resolved, I hope?”

Pippa nods and gives a fond roll of her eyes. “Just teenage drama,” she says. “A feud much like the one between Mildred and Ethel. Though perhaps a touch less…”

Hecate arches an eyebrow. “Catastrophic?”

Pippa nods and smiles, but Hecate can tell by the way her hands stay clasped in front of her, by the way her eyes keep darting over Hecate’s shoulder, that she’s nervous.

“Would you like some tea?”

Hecate accepts, and Pippa seems grateful for something to do with her hands, somewhere else to look, and Hecate closes her eyes against the rush of dread.

They settle in the corner of the room, Hecate perched on the edge of a sofa, Pippa across from her in a wingbacked chair. She sips her tea in silence while Hecate stares straight ahead. Her throat is dry but she can’t drink anything, recoils at even the idea of putting something in her stomach. The clock on Pippa’s wall ticks loudly, and Hecate’s gaze flickers to Pippa, who seems to be intensely contemplating her fine China.

She wishes she could say something, anything, but if she opens her mouth she knows what will come out, and she can’t have that. Can’t lay herself bare, again, only for Pippa to reject her.

Eventually Pippa sighs, shoulders slumping, and stares down into her cup. “I suppose we should talk.”

Hecate swallows. “Yes.”

“About the other night,” she clarifies, as if Hecate didn’t know, as if she could forget.

Everything feels tight and cold and the longer Pippa says nothing, the more she feels her fragile hope slip away, a tether she can’t quite grasp.

It meant nothing.  

That’s what Pippa’s trying to say, she’s sure of it - it was fun, or nice, or good, but it wasn’t serious,  _you know that, don’t you, Hiccup? We’re just friends. We can’t be friends. We were never friends._

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” Pippa blurts, and Hecate can tell by the way her eyes widen and her hand makes to cover her mouth, then stalls, that she didn’t mean to say it. There’s a flush on Pippa’s cheeks, and she gives Hecate a faintly embarrassed smile. “Not that I’m eager or anything,” she says, and Hecate wants to smile back, but she can’t get past the lump in her throat.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to,” she says, more to the floor than to Pippa. Her teacup rattles against the porcelain and she sets it down to avoid spilling it, to ball her hands into fists in her lap and take a deep breath.

She’s so busy trying to quell the shaking of her hands she doesn’t register Pippa’s presence, now right next to her on the pink sofa, until her hand falls to Hecate’s knee.

“That’s because you’re ridiculous,” Pippa says, but her voice is so gentle, so understanding, and her fingers, when they crook under Hecate’s chin and tilt her head up, are warm and soft.

Hecate shudders, nails biting into her palms. “Pippa, I—”

She breaks off when Pippa presses her lips to hers.  

“Sorry,” she says, “I should have asked first. Are you—” Pippa brushes a thumb over Hecate’s cheek, trailing down to settle on her neck over the collar of her dress. “Is this okay?”

 _Yes,_  she wants to say.  _Yes, yes, yes,_  but she needs to hear it from Pippa first, needs validation or reassurance or other, destructive _human_  things her father used to warn her about.

“What—what is this?” she manages, barely. “Is it just—” She can’t bring herself to say  _just sex._  Just a laugh. A lark. Just something to pass the time.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Pippa says evenly, but that doesn’t help, makes it worse, makes Hecate want to pull away, to run away, as far and fast as she can.

“No, Pippa, I—I can't—”

“I want to be with you,” Pippa says, her voice low, eyes roaming over Hecate’s face.

Hecate can barely breathe with Pippa so close, her hand still cupping her neck. “Casually?”

“Is that what you want?”

The word is too quick, too damning. “No.”

Pippa smiles, so gently, and squeezes Hecate’s hand. “What do you want, Hecate?”

She can’t remember the last time she was asked. Can’t remember if she’s ever been asked, about anything, but certainly nothing as important as this.

 _Forever,_ she thinks, the word pushing desperately at her mouth. Instead, she stares at their hands, takes a breath and tries, again, to be braver than she feels. “I want you. I want to—” she starts, her voice stalls, and the last words come out so quiet, she isn’t sure Pippa hears. “—love you.”

And then Pippa’s hands are cupping her cheeks, her nose pressed to Hecate’s before she kisses her, slow and deep.

“I want that too,” she says when they part, breathless. “I mean, to love  _you._  Not myself,” she clarifies, grinning as she strokes her thumbs over Hecate’s cheeks.

Hecate nods, still can’t quite believe, her heart still thudding out of rhythm. But when she finally lifts a shaky hand to Pippa’s face, Pippa leans into the touch, nuzzles her palm and presses a kiss to the center of it, and Hecate finally breathes.


End file.
